


Ophelia in the Reeds

by Twinelove89



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twinelove89/pseuds/Twinelove89
Summary: In this alternate universe Tara grew up with her mother and returns to Charming at the beginning of season one  fleeing Josh to an empty house in a town where she knows no one. When her car breaks down on the side of the road and she's picked up by a handsome stranger her life gets even more confusing. Why does she keep dreaming of water and death? And why does she feel so drawn to Jax?Themes I intend to explore in this work: The idea that Jax and Tara are somehow destined for each other or in some other way interdependent, the passivity of Tara/OpheliaWarning (or incitement depending on your predilection): it gets smutty pretty quickly. The rape/non-con tag is for the descriptions of Tara/Josh scenes and are not overly explicit.





	1. Chapter 1

The inside of the car was an oven and the surface of the worn leather seat a frying pan but on it I dreamed of cold, enveloping water. In my imagination I fell without struggle through endless depths and woke with a start. In the heat my cheek had sealed to the headrest and I swore as it tore away and then sat blinking stupidly in the bright sun. I knew I had only imagined the water but for a moment it felt like it did sometimes to sit on a hot rock after a cold swim. Heat seemed to pour back into my aching, cold body.

It was the hum of an engine that had woke me. A quick glance in the rear view mirror confirmed that there was a car on the road behind me, a shimmering black dot. Or was it a car? Somehow the engine sounded wrong for that.

My own car had died three hours ago on this dusty, rarely-traveled road about thirty miles outside of Charming. It was a clunker I had bought and rarely used in Chicago. It had been idiotic to think it would make the drive to Charming, particularly in the intense summer heat, but I hadn't really had much of a choice. The mad scramble to get out of Chicago and away from Josh had left little enough time for niceties like filing a restraining order and finding a job. Getting a little thing like my engined checked had been too far down my list of priorities.

I watched as the mirage grew closer, wondering if I should get out and wave the vehicle down. It was the first car I had seen and there was no cell phone service to be had for miles around but suddenly, unexpectedly, I was nervous.

Or maybe it was to be expected. I had come to know a new kind of fear ever since Josh had become violent. It colored even normal events-- dropping my keys in a parking lot at night, a man walking by me too quickly in a street or waving down a car when I was stranded-- with a sinister brush. I fished my pepper spray out of my purse and looped my fingers into the little grip that allowed me to hold it concealed in my palm. The hot air in the car felt thin and devoid of oxygen.

In the mirror the black spot began to become clearer and a motorcycle, not a car, became visible. I slumped down in my seat far enough to be invisible to the casual passing observer. I wished I'd pulled my car farther over onto the shoulder. My heart was pounding double time even as I told myself that I was being stupid. Sure bikers had a reputation for being outlaws, but more likely than not the person on the back was just a regular guy who liked the wind in his hair. The often quoted “one percent” statistic was probably an overestimation.

The bike approached and for a moment I thought it would pass me by without stopped but instead it pulled over to the shoulder behind me and I ground my teeth. It was a black bike and big in a spidery, menacing way. I couldn't make out the rider who was unbuckling his helmet. In the mirror his form shimmered in the heated air coming off his bike and road, giving him an other-worldly appearance.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to sit back up and open the door. I stepped out onto the black tarmac and stood with my door open, but also trying to project a confidence I didn't feel. “Can I help you with something?”

The biker considered me for a moment before replying. He had taken off his helmet but not a pair of thick sunglasses so I could see his shock of dirty blond, chin-length hair but not his facial expression. Still I had the distinct impression that he had noticed the way I was standing with feet spread and shoulders squared and talking with a deliberately loud voice. He didn't get off his bike, just leaned back slightly and popped his knuckles. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate you stopping but I've called my brother and he's on his way to pick me up from Charming.”

Again he seemed to take a moment to consider my words. “You must be using a different cell phone provider than I do. Because I don't get a signal on this stretch for at least another ten miles.”

“I guess I must be.”

Again he took a long pause before speaking, either to consider my words or his own. “Darlin', I'm not trying to burn you here. I'm just trying to make sure you're alright.”

“I appreciate your concern but I'm fine.”

He looked at the car. “How long you been out here?”

“Thirty minutes.” I lied.

“You got a flat?”

“No the engine is dead.”

“I'm a mechanic. Can I take a look?”

I nodded my approval. He dismounted and walked towards me. He had parked almost directly behind my car but I noticed that he took the slightly longer way around the car—the one that passed my the passenger's side window instead of the drivers, where I was standing. It was not the natural choice and it kept the car between us—a clear deference to my discomfort with having him close to me. “Pop the hood for me doll?”

For a moment he disappeared under the hood but only a moment. Then he closed it with a gentle click. “When is the last time you replaced your fanbelt?”

“My what?”

He smiled at that. “That's what I thought. It just wore right out. It's easy enough to fix but we aren't going to do it here on the side of the road. Let me give you a ride to Charming. I really can't see my way clear to leaving you out here.”

“That really won't be necessary.”

He thought about that for a long moment. “Suit yourself.”

He returned to his bike but he didn't get back on. Instead he fished in one of the panniers strapped to one of his back axle and brought out a water bottle. He took a deep drink and leaned against his bike. He glanced off into the expanse of desert stretching away from us with apparent disinterest. I tried not to stare longingly at the water. The roof of my mouth had been dry for hours and now began to protest even more persistently.

“What are you doing?”

He glanced at me and shrugged. “I'm waiting.”

“For what?”

“I'm not sure. Either someone to come along that I know that you trust to give you a ride or for you to pass out from heat stroke I guess. Given that you don't have any water and you've been baking in that car for what I can't imagine is less than two hours, the later if I was looking to make a little money gambling.”

“Without exercise heat stroke is unlikely. You're thinking of heat exhaustion, which would take days in the case of a healthy adult like myself.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“Yes actually.”

“No shit. Smart and pretty too? Good for you darlin'. But you don't know anything about this heat. Up here in the canyons it's like an oven and it sucks the water right out of you. You've already been out here too long.”

“Why not ride on and call me a tow truck then?”

He grinned. “I ain't leaving you here alone with the crows darling. Anything could come down this road next.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. That was an odd attitude for a biker to have. By most people's standards, he was the worst 'anything' that could come along.

I took a moment to scrutinize my new company. He was dressed typically for a biker: black gloves and a leather vest with some patches, the only one of which I could make out was on the lower side and said “SAMCRO.” Other than that he was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans with a hunting knife strapped to his belt. He pushed the sunglasses up to reveal dazzlingly blue eyes and gave me a mocking, challenging glance that let me know that he knew what I was doing but I was welcome to look.

Without his glasses he was more handsome than I had originally thought. The scruffy beard and lanky blond hair made him seem somewhat unkempt but the Bing-Crosby blue eyes lent an unexpected, all-American feel to his face. He was in fact extraordinarily handsome and the charming smirk of a grin told me that he knew it. He looked like trouble. He looked like the open road. And something in me like a pond that had always been calm seemed to ripple.

The deep well of reservation, good sense and determination that I thought defined me was not the eternally still water I had imagined. I wanted to get on the back of his bike and not so that he would take me to Charming. I wanted him to take me wherever he was going and to feel the wind in my hair as we went there. I clenched my first around the pepper spray a little harder. That was just the dehydration talking.

He closed the water bottle and pitched it to me underhand. It was a nice easy lob that practically banged into my chest. I tried to catch it without showing him my palm where the pepper spray was concealed. “Here. Gesture of good faith.”

“Thank you.” I said, but I didn't open the bottle.

He fished a pack of cigarettes out of one pocket and lit one with a zippo. “Have some water doc. You're making me uncomfortable with how thirsty you look.”

I shifted the water between hands but still didn't open it. Instead I asked in as casual a tone as I could, “so let me get this straight. You're planning to wait until I pass out and then what, throw me over the back of your motorcycle and strap me in?”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure. It seems like less of a hassle though than letting you mace me first though.” I frowned. How had he seen what I was holding? “Come on doc, let me give you a ride. I promise I'll get you wherever you need to go, no hassle.”

When I hesitated he sighed and fished in his pocket, bringing out a small leather wallet. He threw it over, again with a nice easy pitch. “My name is Jackson Teller. I'm a mechanic in Charming. I can take you wherever you want to go in Charming and then I'll call my garage and I'll have them send out a tow truck for your car.”

I flipped open the wallet. His drivers license was as he said: Jackson Teller with an address in Charming. I noticed though that he didn't have any credit cards, only what I estimated to be at least a thousand dollars in twenties. Other than that the wallet was empty except for two photographs: a faded one of a smiling family on the beach and a small sonogram of a fetus that looked to be about eight months along to me. I tossed the wallet back and opened the water. I took two long sips and tried to push back my fear and really think about my situation.

There were of course a number of arguments against getting on his motorcycle. On the other hand I was going to eventually have to trust that someone either give me a ride or call me one from the nearest town. The fact that he had refused my request to ride on and call me a tow truck rankled me but neither had he approached me or the car. And really, it wasn't as if he could drive me to a more remote location after all. I took another sip of water and then nodded. “Okay.”

I retrieved my purse from the front seat and locked my car door. I kept the mace in my palm though as I approached him. He must have noticed too because he didn't offer to shake my hand. He simply held out his helmet. “Guests wear the helmet doc.” As I buckled it on he finished his cigarette and crushed it out on the pavement. He found a hairband from his pocket and swept his locks up into a loose, stubby ponytail. “You ever been on a bike before?”

“No.”

“It ain't that hard. Just let me do the work.”

He straddled the bike and turned the key. The engine roared to life he gunned it twice, then nodded for me to get on behind him. I hesitated for only a moment before swinging my leg over the back of the bike and settling in. Though I was careful to keep a small space between us I could smell him faintly, close as we were. He smelled like smoke, leather, dirt and motor oil and something else that was masculine and animal. It was a surprisingly pleasing smell. More than pleasing. It smelled like something entirely alive. I wanted to press my face into that smell and inhale.

The engine between my legs idled for a moment as I tried to figure out what to grab onto. I settled in the end for the edges of his leather jacket. Between my hands the Grim Reaper stared back at me, a scythe-cum-machinegun slung over one shoulder and the other hand offering an orb emblazoned with the anarchy symbol. SONS OF ANARCHY it read over his head CALIFORNIA beneath him.

I drew my hands back instinctively. I had dreamed of death in this desert and now here I was on the back of a motorcycle, staring it in the face.

“You okay doc?”

I replaced my hands, careful to touch only the sun-baked cloth and not the warm, living body beneath. I was being ridiculous. “Yes, fine.”

It took two hours to reach Charming and already the sun was going down over the rim of the desert when we finally reached the outskirts. We didn't speak, because of the wind or our unfamiliarity I didn't know. He asked for my address when we reached the outskirts of the city but thankfully not where to find it

The house was a nice innocuous one-story on a block that looked straight out of the nineteen fifties. It was an odd place to arrive on the back of a Harley, and after the day I'd had.

He pulled the bike up into the driveway and got off first. I swung my own leg over the back and immediately stumbled a little bit at the unexpected stillness of the Earth after so many hours of humming vibration. “Whoah.” He steadied me with a firm grip on my elbow. “Easy does it. The first time you take a long ride like that the legs can forget what solid ground feels like.”

He let go of my elbow quickly and I unstrapped his helmet, holding it awkwardly out to him. He took it with a smile but held it, not putting it on. “Thank you very much for the ride into town Mr. Teller.”

“Most girls I give a ride to call me Jax.”

I nodded, trying not to writhe under his smirk. “Can I offer you a check? For the ride? I'm afraid I don't have a lot of cash on me.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “No doc, the first one is on the house. I'll have someone at the garage go pick up your car tonight. They should have it ready for you tomorrow.”

“That's really kind of you.”

He didn't respond, only nodded in acknowledgment.

For some reason I hesitated. I was suddenly reluctant to go into the house. In the weird light of twilight—the street lamps already on but under a dim, purple sky—it seemed ominous. I had no clothes, none of my belongings, and worst of all no idea of what I would find inside. My father had come to Chicago a few times to visit me (“checking up” he called it but mostly he just took me for ice cream and the Planetarium, which never felt like a check up), but I had never been to visit him. The house was mine, but I'd never been inside it.

And then there was the last time I had seen Josh. I'd come home from the hospital just at dusk, turned the key, opened my door and felt a shove at my back. I hadn't cried out as we fell into the darkened entrance together. The sound of his breath in my ear had been overwhelming but not enough to drown out the beating of my own, terrified heart. I'd frozen, utterly unable to act. I had learned about the flight or fight response in school of course but now, in my moment of need, I was incapable of either. His had had slid down over my hip and up my belly, and when he's fingers had tightened there I knew he knew what I had done. Fear washed over me like a wave, tumbling me over and then pushing me down and down.

“Tara...” He had whispered and I had just shuddered. Nothing more. That was what I had been the most ashamed of later, what had scared me the most about that experience: my inability to respond.

He'd been hauling me across the threshold of my own house when a neighbor had happened to walk by. Benjamin, bless him, had latter said that I must have hit my head and been unconscious but I knew he'd seen my wide-open and terrified eyes, like a farm animal in sight of the slaughter house.

In the desert I had felt a distant, resigned fear. It was the fear of being found picked clean by crows. That, at least, was a clean death, free of shame. Only now, faced by the dark house that I would call my home for the next months, did I begin to feel real panic.

Teller's brow creased, he seemed to sense my hesitation. “This the right house doc?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” The words were out before I could stop them—inviting more questions.

To my surprise, they didn't come in a rush. He turned the keys and the bike rumbled off. He fished in his breast pocket and found the pack of cigarettes. He lit one and waited.

“It's my father's house. My biological father. He passed recently and left it to me. But I've never been to Charming. I... I... well I figured I'd take a job here and try to clean it up.” I tried to smile. “You wouldn't believe rent in Chicago these days.”

“You going in then?”

“Eventually I'll have to.”

The noise of the dusk was characteristically suburban: a dog barked distantly, the thrum of the grasshoppers and the power lines competed for dominance. “I'd take a beer. As thanks,” he said finally. He must have seen something of my thoughts because he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Just a beer.”

I sighed. “I don't even know if I have a beer.”

“I'd be willing to find out.”

“I don't want to inconvenience you any furth...”

“It's not an inconvenience. Just think of me as the Charming welcoming committee.”

I let out a little snort of laughter. “You've certainly rolled out the red carpet for me.”

“My mother would be so proud.”

“You really don't mind?”

He took the keys out and swung off his bike in response. “Lead the way.”

I had been given three keys for the house but I tried them all with no luck. My hands were trembling slightly. It was difficult for me to concentrate, knowing he was right behind me. “Could you?” I finally asked, turning to him.

He got it on the second key. He pushed opened the door and hunted for the light switch for a while before finding it. “Whoah!” He said when the lights finally came on. The small entrance hallway was packed almost floor to ceiling with dusty filing boxes. They came almost to waist height and I could see more of them scattered throughout the living room, some piled precariously high.

“I guess my dad was a bit of a packrat then.”

“Going to give me the grand tour then?”

I laughed. “Sure, if you like. I think I can see the kitchen over that way.”

“When did you father die?” He asked as I opened the fridge and promptly shut it again against the eye-watering stench that came out.

“Three months ago. I guess the power still hasn't been shut off but the fridge hasn't been cleaned either. It smells like something has died in there. I didn't see any beer but I didn't stick around a look too long.”

The normal rules for a guest seemed suspended. He bent down and opened some of the cabinets below the counter tops. Mostly they turned out to be full of decades worth of plastic and paper bags, disposable plastic microwave trays and the like but one was full to the brim with empty liquor bottles. “That looks promising at least.”

The liquor itself was in one of the racks in the pantry. I picked one at random and brought it out. “How about a whiskey and...” I glanced around for something to mix it with but nothing presented itself readily.

“Neat is fine.” He said firmly, rummaging into one of the cabinets and coming back with two mugs. One said 'a bad day of fishing is better than a good day of work!' and the other a graphic of a cartoon bass being pulled out of the water.

He poured us two generous portions and handed me one. I took a sip. It was too strong but I struggled not to splutter in front of my new guest. The warmth from it soothed my dust-dry throat and seemed to spread out from my stomach into my extremities and veins. For the first time since I'd come into the house, I stopped shaking.

“It must be weird, being in his house the first time like this.”

I shrugged. “My dad was always a mystery to me. I didn't have any expectations for him. Didn't know him well enough.”

“You never thought about who he was?”

“The stories we tell ourselves about our parents are never true. They're never who we think they are, usual not even all that close.”

“You think so?” There was an odd edge in his voice.

I shrugged. “Some days I barely know who I am. How can I be expected to figure anyone else out?” I put the cup back on the counter. “I'm going to go try to find my bathroom.”

“Try the first door on the left, it's always the first door on the left.”

In the bathroom I peed and splashed some water on my face. I stripped off my jean jacket and washed some of the grime from the road off my hands and neck. I looked in the mirror for a long time, waiting for some sort of resolution to arrive.

I'd felt what was coming next for months. There it had been—a humming on the edge of my consciousness like the sinking feeling of inevitability that comes at the edge of a cliff or the first tremors of an electroencephalogram just before a _grand mal_ seizure.

When I came back out he was in the living room looking at one of the bookshelves. “At least you won't run out of things to read. Your dad had some great taste in books.”

I went to him. He held out the book he had been examining and I took it but stepping deliberately too close. I glanced at the title _The Cuckoo's Egg_. “I haven't read it.” I looked up at him through my lashes and smiled coquettishly. “Is it any good?”

He studied me for a long moment before he finally took the book back and placed it gently on the shelf. He stepped even farther into my space as he did, backing me up slightly so I was between him and the wall next to the shelf. He brought one hand up and ever-so gently brushed my hair back behind one ear. “What's your name doc?”

In all this time we'd spent together he'd never asked me. We hadn't talked much in the heat and the wind but still.. I'd insisted that he tell me who he was—made him show me his drivers license to prove it—and he'd never returned the discourtesy. I blushed, ashamed of myself. This wasn't me at all. I wasn't the kind of girl who got stranded in the desert, or let a man I didn't know into my house, or have a one night stand, much less with a biker, much less with one who didn't know my name. Jesus Christ he was wearing a knife on his belt and I'd invited him in. I wasn't that kind of girl. Or at least I wouldn't have thought I was. The evidence seemed to be mounting by the minute that I was, in fact, exactly that kind of girl.

I felt like I was watching myself as I raised my eyes to his. I was outside of my body, outside of my control, looking at a girl in the midst of a crisis I could barely remember. I could feel the ache of her body—both from the long ride and the anticipation of what was to come but distantly, as if the sensation were transmitted through some attenuating material.

“Tara. Tara Knowles.”

“Are you trying to tell me something Tara Knowles?”

“Yes.” My voice was so cracked and low I barely recognized it.

“Are you trying to tell me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

That conqueror's smile was back—amused and languid as he leaned forward and kissed me. Heat and fire shot through me, so much stronger and warmer than the whiskey had been. I was instantly back in my body, back in the moment, back in the crisis. This close I could smell him—leather, cigarettes, dust and soap: a combination I found more reassuring that I would have imagined. The kiss was gentle, exploratory. “You sure about this Tara?”

_No._ “Yes.”

That was all it took. His lips were back on mine and this time the kiss was a little less gentle. My lips parted in a sigh and he pressed forward, exploring my mouth with his own. One arm went around my waist and he crushed me to his body. Underneath his shirt and jacket I could feel the warm expanse of his chest and I sighed into his mouth. My hands went up to tangle in his hair, pulling his lips down harder onto my own until the kiss was crushing, punishing. He pushed me back farther until I was pinned between his body and the wall, pushing his knee between mine and leaning in. Already I was feeling lightheaded and that indefinable ache at the apex of my thighs was beginning to become unbearable. I could feel him already half-hard against my leg and when he pressed a thigh into just the right spot I moaned against him.

He broke the kiss and leaned back, looking incomparably pleased with himself. “Fuck but you moan pretty doc.” He slipped the straps of my tank top and bra down, pushing the fabric down so my breasts spilled out the top. With one thumb he caressed a nipple, pushing in slightly until I convulsed, rocking myself against his broad thigh in a way that made gasp.

I felt like something pinned to the wall: an insect or marionette that he could control. I'd always been something of a shy lover—almost reserved—but my reactions to him were automatic and visceral. I perhaps could have stopped him if I'd wanted to but there was no way I could have stopped myself. Bent forward I looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please.”

His lips were back on mine and this time there was real fury behind them. He bit my lips, my tongue and then slid down my neck, biting that too until I was panting and grinding my hips down on his leg as hard as I could. He bent his head forward to capture a nipple just as his hand undid my jeans and slid inside. “Jesus you're so fucking wet already,” he groaned as the first finger slid inside.

My eyes were open but I felt I was no longer able to see. I stared up at the overhead light without comprehension. All that mattered now was his fingers and mouth as he scraped a nail delicately across my clitoris and the light seemed to explode. “Jesus...please!”

Again my pleading seemed to provoke him. He knelt, ripping my pants and panties down to my ankles in a single, violent motion. He kissed my thighs, the top of my pubis and parted the folds of my vagina. Slowly, almost reverently, he leaned forward and put his mouth over my clitoris. The gentle sucking was almost enough to undo me entirely. With one hand he held my waist, almost supporting me as I slumped forward slightly, knees almost caving.

He flicked his tongue over the delicate head, maintaining that gentle outward pressure and I slammed my torso back against the wall. I almost reached for his head but drew my hands back, not wanting to disrupt him. I was so close. He raked his teeth lightly over the hood of my clit and I let out a strangled cry as I came.

The orgasm was almost painful in its intensity. I hadn't come in months. At the end of our relationship I had stopped sleeping with Josh and the stress of what had come after—the stalking and the violence—had made robbed me of any desire to find my own pleasure. It felt like some long-blocked pipe had sprung suddenly open and something torrential was pouring back into my flesh, filling it with white-hot heat. I thrust my head back against the wall, grinding my teeth together against the flood. My knees buckled in earnest and I slid down the wall into a sitting position. “Fuck....fuck...fuck.”

When the pleasure ebbed and I reopened my eyes I was sitting with my knees splayed, my jeans around my ankles and my tank top pushed down over my tits. He was still on his knees between my legs.

“Your cunt tastes like honey doc.” There was no point in blushing. No point in responding at all to that. I sat forward and began to pull my shirt over my head but he slapped my hands away. “You get to take your clothes off everyday doc, have some manners and let someone else enjoy it.” He scolded me.

He pulled of my shoes first and then stripped my pants and panties off. He took his time, sliding them gently over my legs and then replacing my legs in their splayed, wanton fashion. Next he slid his hands up my torso, pulling my bra and shirt together over my head. He looked at me for a long moment. His pupils were wide and his nose was flared. He looked like a predator. He looked like he wanted to rip into my flesh in just the way I wanted him too. I was practically leaking onto the carpet.

He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let's go find the bedroom.”

The first door we pushed open looked to be my father's old room. I shook my head. “Guest room.”

He nodded and we found it on the third try, after one closet. It was crammed with stuff, more boxes, more plastic containers and for some reason about fifty venetian blinds. But the bed at least had sheets on. He led me to it and I climbed up. He pointed to the head and obediently I crawled to the pillows and sat, cross-legged, staring at him where he stood by the foot.

“Your tits are fucking perfect. I could stare at you all night.”

I swallowed. “I hope you won't.”

“That goes straight to my cock when you talk like that doc.”

He took off his shoes and socks. He took off the leather vest and arranged it gently on the back of a chair. He took three condoms out of the pocket of his vest and tossed them up next to me on the bed. He began to take off his shirt. “Don't...”

“You want to do the honors?”

I nodded.

With a smug grin he climbed onto the bed with me. “Well I do aim to please.”

He crawled to me and pushed me back into the pillows with a kiss. I pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. For the first time I could press our torsos together and I arched up into him, wanting to feel the heat and softness of his skin. He grabbed my hips and slid me down so I was laying beneath him. I unbuttoned his pants and he slid them down with his boxers, kicking them off the bed.

I was already wet and he was already hard against my thigh but he didn't plunge in right away. He kissed deeply, pressing my body into the mattress with his. His flesh was firm and soft and felt electrically charged. Everywhere we touched he seemed to send tingling heat flooding into me. His fingers slid back down my body, spreading me open and beginning to slowly rock back and forth.

Nothing bad could ever happen to me as long as he was on top of me. Between the softness of the bed and the firm, vivid warmth of his body there was no room for fear to slip in. I arched against him. “Please Jax, I need you inside of me.”

He leaned back and ripped open one of the condoms. He rolled it onto himself and then returned. He hooked an arm under one of my knees and bent it up, spreading me wide. With the other hand he fisted himself and pushed in. He was nearly too big for me and he sank in agonizingly slowly, even as wet as I was. I pushed up my hips, arching into the aching pleasure of penetration. “Christ you're tight.”

“Please...”

His eyes were almost black his pupils were so wide. “Jesus Tara, you're so beautiful.”

“Please...”

“I want to fuck you forever. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen like this.”

“Please... Jax, just fuck me then.” He had bottomed out inside of me but he wasn't moving. He was staring down at me with a strange, out-of-control look. It wasn't the look that had crept into Josh's eyes when he'd gone crazy. It wasn't the predatory look he'd given me in the living room. It was almost as if he was listening to a piece of music he had never heard before but which transported him. He looked down at me like he was enraptured by the feel of me around him.

I knew how he felt.

Nothing had ever been as good as the feel of him inside of me. I pressed up against him, longing to push him farther inside even though I knew it was impossible. Slowly he began to move. The tension between us was building to a crescendo. My breath was coming ragged and my vision was beginning to go out of focus again. I rocked my hips back in unison with his but my head lolled to the side.

“Look at me baby. Tara look at me.”

“Jax...harder.”

“God...fuck...Jesus...fuck.”

He began slamming his hips against me in earnest and the rhythmic pressure of his pelvis against my clit put me over the edge. My whole body arched as I came, clenching hard around him. It was enough to put him over the edge too. “Tara!”

As he came he found both my hands with his, clenching our palms together and pushing my hands above my head so I was stretched out fully beneath him. His head bowed and he bit the tip of my breast, causing another shudder of pleasure to wash through me. He collapsed on top of my, finally letting the full weight of his body press me into the mattress.

We lay like that for a while, neither able to speak or move. Then he rolled off of me and, carefully grasping the base of his flaccid penis so the condom wouldn't slide off, slid out of me.

He stood and went to the bathroom. For the first time I saw his back. His leather vest lay discarded in my living room but the graphic from it remained—a to-scale tattoo stretching the entirety of his well-muscled back. I turned my head away from it, buring my face in the pillow. Who in the hell had I just slept with? For months I had felt like I was coming slowly unhinged: Josh's insanity slowly seeping over into my brain as well. Had it finally caught up with me? What was I doing sleeping with this guy I didn't know?

I rolled onto my side, feeling sick. How had I let myself become so vulnerable? So needy? I wondered if he would stay the night. The house would drive me mad with fear if I had to sleep in it alone. Already I could feel my heartbeat speeding up at the thought of it. I didn't know if all the doors were locked and I would be far too afraid to go out into the dark, unknown house to check. But on the other hand how could I ask him to stay? How could I trust him to stay even if he did?

I heard the bedroom door open again but didn't move to sit up or look at him. I closed my eyes, bracing for an awkward conversation. I had no idea what I would say to him, what I even wanted. To my surprise the lights clicked off and I felt the bed tilt as he climbed back in. He slid the covers down beneath my legs and then brought them up again so I was beneath them. He slid in behind me and pulled me back against him so we were touching from shoulders to ankles. One strong arm went around my waist, anchoring me against him.

I'd tried to fall asleep in this position before with boyfriends and found it suffocating, confining. But somehow this was different. He didn't try to pull me to him into the spooning position. Instead he lay prone beside me, one arm sprawled across me. We weren't flush together, only close enough that I could feel the breath and warmth. The arm didn't feel restricting: it seemed like merely a reassurance that if I woke in the dark I wouldn't wake alone.

“Goodnight Tara.”

“Goodnight Jax.”

Behind me his breath became rhythmic and slow. Only when I was sure he was asleep did I finally drop off as well into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please drop me a comment to let me know what you thought!

This time it was the shrill of a phone that jerked me from the dream. The phantom water vanished from my face as my eyes jerked open and I drew in a gasping breath. The tree branches in the icy water that had tangled around my legs dissolved into sheets and the icy black depths into the white stucco ceiling.

The ringing phone was my father's land line in the living room. I kicked off the sheets and waited until the phone stopped ringing. Whoever was trying to call my dead father was no one who interested me very much.

I was alone in the bed. I might have thought that I had dreamed the night before if it weren't for the smell of leather and cigarettes in the bed and the soreness between my thighs. I put my hand into the crease of the bed where the other body had been. What in the holy hell had I been thinking? To my surprise my fingers met paper. It was a short note written in a spidery, elegant hand.

 

_Jax Teller_

_555-4376_

 

The phone in the living room was silent for a moment and then started ringing again. With a wail of frustration I got off the bed and made my way into the living room, edging carefully between piles of old junk. I found the phone between a pile of decorations from what looked to be a high school dance and a broken space heater. The decorations had slumped over, nearly hiding the phone itself.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Tara Knowles?”

“This is she.”

“Good morning Ms. Knowles. My name is Margaret Murphy. I'm the pediatrics administrator here at St. Thomas hospital. We've just been brought an emergency c-section. All of our other pediatric surgeons are currently occupied. Dr. Nemid suggested that I might try you. I know you don't start officially until tomorrow but...”

“No that's fine.” I rubbed a sleepy hand over my face. “Only I don't have a car and I don't know exactly how I can get to the hospital...”

“I see. Let me see if I can get someone to pick you up Dr. Knowles. I'll call you back in a few minutes.”

“Sounds great.”

I went into the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry. I didn't dare open the fridge again so I had slightly stale Cheerios out of the box standing over the sink. Figuring out the coffee maker without a cup of coffee first seemed impossible so I drank a warm coke from the pantry instead, feeling that all the while it was wholly inadequate. I was just considering a shower—sure I smelled of sex, leather and cigarettes—when the doorbell rang and the phone went off at the same time.

I pulled on my surgery shoes, grabbed my bag and went to the door.

The woman standing in my doorway didn't look like she worked at any hospital I'd ever been too. She was solidly middle age but with a nice figure that she accentuated with a low-cut blouse and tight, dark jeans. I could see the edge of a tattoo just peaking out of the side of her top. She had on a fringed, leather belt and a matching handbag and stylish ombre sunglasses. She looked more like the aging owner of a bar in a bad part of town than a hospital orderly. “Dr. Knowles?”

“Hi...I'm sorry, I have to answer the phone just now.”

“I'm here to take you to the hospital. Get in the car.” The command was barked so harshly my flinch was visible.

Still I found myself following her out to the compact luxury car parked in the driveway and getting into the passenger's seat. “You don't work at the hospital do you?” I asked, hurrying to buckle my seat belt as she pulled out of the driveway fast enough to throw me against the door.

“I'm the grandmother.”

She didn't talk on the car ride. Or rather, she didn't talk to me. She swore at the other cars, at the stops signs, the traffic, her 'junkie-whore-of-a-crack-smoking-daughter-in-law' and almost everything else. Her phone rang when we were about halfway through. She picked it up. “Yeah, yeah, I'm bringing her to the hospital now. “

There was a pause.

“You're welcome!” She slammed the phone shut. “Fucking bureaucratic cunt.”

I was glad I was buckled in when she pulled up to the front of the hospital. I might have gone through the windshield otherwise. “Were you supposed to pick me...” I began to asked.

“Get. Out.” She leaned over and threw open my door. “That bitch will tell you where to go next.”

'That bitch' was a red-headed woman in her mid forties coming down from the hospital entrance and well within hearing range. I got out. I decided I didn't care since I could see she was holding two cups of coffee. “Hi, I'm Dr. Knowles.”

She was shaking her head. “Good morning Dr. Knowles, right this way please. I'm sorry for the ride. Gemma is a bit of a special case in Charming. I was trying to arrange one of the orderlies to come pick you up but she decided she would be faster and I'm afraid she grabbed the chart before I could protest.”

I forced a smile. “Well no harm done. I'm here now at least.”

She gave me a warm smile. “Thank you so much for coming in. Let me show you where to get scrubbed in.”

She took me to the locker room and found me scrubs, a hairnet and face mask. A nurse was waiting for me there with a chart and she read it to me as I changed.

“The mother came in last night with the signs of a methamphetamine toxicology. An emergency c section was performed to remove the patient from..” I took my first drink of coffee and felt that familiar calm but energetic feeling I always got before a surgery settle over me.

I could feel the impending surgery like a breeze lifting the sails of some vast ship inside the hospital. Somewhere there was an OR being prepared. Lights were being turned on and instruments were being laid out. A bed was being prepared and an anesthesiologist was making his preparations. The feeling of near isolation began to well up. This was what I loved most about being a doctor. We were walked quickly down a crowded corridor and yet I felt both calm and alone. A veil was being drawn between me and the mundane world.

I let myself slip into the flow of it and carry me through.

The surgery was long but without complications. I have always thought that being born must be the scariest thing we experience. Even death we can prepare for, but birth comes wholly unexpected. And this baby had been born far too early. The normal development of heart, lungs and gut were not complete. The normal closing of the systems that would have happened in his mothers womb instead happened in my bright and cold OR, the poor little thing.

When I arrived he was already draped in blue cloth, only his tiny chest and lungs exposed to the air and knives. I preferred this. With him already draped it was easy to think of him as a doll instead of a real child. By the time I had finished and the last stitch was pulled close I had usually all but forgotten that the item I had been cutting into was a child.

“Very nice assist Dr. Knowles. I appreciate you coming in this morning. I am not sure the surgery would have gone as well without you.” The attending surgeon said as we stepped back from the table and pulled off our blue gowns.

“Thank you. I'm glad to come in” Though he was going to be my new boss I couldn't remember his name for a moment.

He swept out, leaving me alone with the nurses and staff to whom I had barely been introduced. I took off my loops and arranged them their box and began to read over and fill out some paperwork. The nurses pulled back the draping and for a moment I allowed myself to glance up. The little body on the table was beginning to move as the anesthesia wore off and squirm in discomfort. He settled a little bit as he was given a dose of morphine—probably not his first experience with that drug I thought with a momentary pang of sadness.

I put aside my paperwork and went over to look down at him. He was small even for how premature he was and he had none of the healthy flush. He was covered in afterbirth except where it had been wiped clean to allow me a sterile surface. He looked cold and unhappy even under the heat-lamp but he wasn't breathing rhythmically or keening (signs of major trouble in premature babies) and he didn't seem to be trying to cry out. A little fighter, I thought approvingly.

A nurse came over and swaddled him with an expert hand, wrapping the cloth around him and turning him on his side. She had an odd style of swaddling that left one hand and side of his chest exposed (useful for the temperature monitor and other tests). He reached up with one hand and instinctively I offered him a finger. His grip was surprisingly strong as well though his fingers were miniscule.

“He's got spirit.”

“Looks like that doesn't it?” She said with a grin. “Just wait till he's been fed.”

“What is his name?”

She checked the chart and then shrugged. “Don't know if he has one yet. He didn't when they brought him into the OR at least.”

I finished my paperwork and then changed back out of my scrubs. Margret found me in the locker room as I was stuffing them back into my duffel. “The boy's father is here to visit him and I was wondering if you would mind giving him the report on the surgery. Dr. Nemid was pulled into another surgery.”

I nodded. It wasn't uncommon for the residents to do the post on a surgery for patients. “Just bring me his chart will you?”

She brought me his chart and a bagel smeared with cream cheese as well. “It's well passed noon. I can show you the cafeteria after you do the post but I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you.”

I read over the chart while I flipped through the history. The heart defect was congenital. The GI problems were due to the drugs. The mother was a longtime user. I was still reading as I followed Margret down the hall and she pushed open the door of a private waiting room.

“Mr. Teller this is Dr. Knowles, the assisting physician for your son's procedure. Dr. Knowles I am going to step back to my office for a moment. I will be back shortly to collect you.”

I looked up and for a moment seemed to see only familiar blue eyes. Between two heartbeats I was transfixed. “Hello again doc.”

“Hi.”

“So your my kids doctor then?”

I shook my head slightly, snapping myself back to reality and time seemed to speed back up to normal speed. “No actually your primary doctor is Dr. Nemid. I am up to speed though and can give you a full report. As you know we went in for an emergency Cesarian after your wife was found this morning in a state of overdose. Both your son and wife survived the procedure but I'm afraid there were complications. He appears to have a congenital heart condition and, due to the early birth and drug use throughout the pregnancy, his GI tract hasn't fully closed. Both will need to be repaired with surgery.”

“When?”

“In a few days. Dr. Nemid thinks its better to give him some time to build up some strength before the surgery.”

He ran a hand over his face and swallowed deep in his throat. “Is he going to die doc?”

He was so different than he had been when he found me on the road. The cocky, self-assured smile was nowhere to be seen. There was a little bit of redness around his eyes, either from tears or fatigue and he had that familiar look I'd seen in the faces of thousands of relatives of patients: a heartbreaking mix of hope and impotent fear. On his motorcycle he'd seemed an invincible, almost mythical creature but in the bright hospital lights, he was transparently mortal.

For a moment it occurred to me to reach out and smooth back the hair that had fallen in front of his face or to cup his cheek. The impulse was as shocking in its strength and sudden appearance as it was in its impropriety. I'd already crossed a line with someone who was now a patient's family and every part of my professional training told me to walk that back, mitigate the damage as much as possible for the sake of my career. And yet, all I wanted to do was sink into his arms again. I spread my hands, “at this point it is too soon to say. We might know more tomorrow.”

He bit his lips and the next words came out in a low, strained voice. “What are his chances?”

“As I said, I am not the primary physician so I don't like to speculate. I'm sure Dr. Nemid with his more extensive experience of the case will be more than happy too...”

“Come on doc, this is my son we're talking about.”

Now it was my turn to bite my lip. It was inappropriate for me to give an estimation. I wasn't the primary physician and I had only just been added to the case. “I really can't Mr. Teller.”

He bit his lip and nodded, stuffing both his hands in his pockets. “Okay doc. I appreciate your help with this. I'm real glad to know that he's got someone like you on his side.”

I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling suddenly exhausted myself. The day already felt long and the single cup of coffee hadn't been enough. “Yesterday I would have said twenty percent if I'd been feeling generous. Today I'd put it at sixty if I was in the same mood. But it's a good sign he's come this far. In my experience the cases that improve considerably tend to continue that trend. Your son is a fighter if he made it this far but he is in for more of the rough stuff in the next few days.” I hesitated again since I was already over the line I figured I didn't have much to lose. “You should give him a name and go see him. That helps too. He is going to be in the NICU for a couple of months. It might give him something to look forward to if he can meet the people he'll be going home with.”

“Abel. His name is Abel Teller.”

“That's a good name. Would you like to see him?”

His expression just then was something that I would think about often in the days that followed. It was beyond my comprehension. There were elements in it that I understood: anger was prominent as well as frustration and something gentler—sorrow maybe or despair. The intensity and the vulnerability that was clear in it made me take a step back. I didn't know this man; wasn't eager to make his problems my own. I reminded myself that I was his child's doctor and nothing more. He had done me a favor the day before but I had offered to pay for it and he had declined. I was not beholden to him. So why was it that there was some part of me that could so clearly imagine taking him in my arms? The two of us would sink down to the floor of the hospital—the only unsterilized surface I had touched all day-- and cradle each other, sobbing.

“I've got something I gotta take care of.”

It was almost magic the way his expression passed back into the civilized realm. Sound seemed to rush back into the world. I nodded and flipped the chart closed, extending my hand. “As you wish. Do you have any other questions for me now Mr. Teller?”

He shook his head and took my hand softly. I would have expected him to give me a crushing handshake. Instead the pressure was soft, not caressing but a comforting squeeze. “I think I already told you that most girls who ride on my bike call me Jax.”

I blushed. _Ride on his bike_ indeed. What a perfect euphemism that turned out to be. “Jax then. And I guess that makes me Tara still.”

“Can you still treat Abel? Even though we know each other?”

I shrugged. “Only if you want me to. I can recuse myself from Abel's treatment if you're uncomfortable with it but from my point of view, from the hospitals I don't think there is a conflict of interest.”

“No, of course I want you taking care of my kid.”

“You wife may feel differently.”

“She ain't my wife anymore.”

“You don't have any apologies to make to me. I'm not making any assumptions.”

“And you don't have any to make to Wendy Case. She and I haven't been together for six months.” He brought up my hand and gave me a brief kiss across the knuckles. “I'll see you around doc.”

When he was gone I was silent and still for a long moment. “FUCK!” The word exploded out of me before I pressed my fingers to my lips to stifle it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear comments make me type faster! Please let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! Please leave me a little note! I'm so enjoying hearing from you all!

It was almost easy to stay at the hospital for the next thirty-six hours. A young gunner of a surgery resident trying to prove herself by pulling a two day shift right out of the gate was barely in need of a second look. The nurses showed me the cafeteria, the shower, and the on-call room as I needed them between cases.

I wasn't sure I wanted to run into Jackson Teller again but I had been put in charge of checking in on Abel Teller to determine when the next surgery should occur so I spent quite a lot of time with him. It fell to me to tell Wendy Case of her son's status as well. I went as soon as she woke up. She cried when I told her his chances, wept openly for minutes before she could contain herself.

“I did this to him... I did this to him...” She kept keening.

I fled the room as soon as I could. In what might be the hardest moment of her life—coming down off of a high to find that she'd nearly killed her unborn son—she was so desperately, pathetically alone. I stepped out of the room and allowed myself to lean back against the door for a moment and relax. From down the corridor I could see a familiar figure in front of the NICU viewing window—a well built frame on one-inch boots, well displayed.

I almost went down another corridor but I wasn't well oriented enough yet to be sure I could get back to my office if I didn't take a direct route. As I came up the corridor she didn't turn but she must have seen me out of the corner of her eye. “How is he doing?” She sounded... if not exactly sweet, tired and heartsick in a way that inspired empathy.

“He's improved marginally in the last twelve hours. His vitals are stable, which is almost as important as them improving.”

“Has my son come to see him?”

“I gave him a report after the surgery. I am not sure if he has been back to the hospital since then Mrs. Teller.”

She turned to face me. “That's my first grandkid in there.”

“You should be proud of him. Pulling through until now was no small feat. He's strong.”

Her jaw clenched. “They're all strong. All Teller men are strong. And it never does them a single lick of good.” She turned and gave me a once over. “I'm Gemma by the way. Gemma Teller-Morrow”

She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “Dr. Tara Knowles, officially.”

“You haven't been in Charming long have you?”

I didn't like where this conversation was going. I felt like I was about to be all but forced into a lie of omission, which felt dishonest. But neither did I feel like explaining the details of how I'd gotten to Charming. “I arrived two days ago actually.”

“What brings you to Charming?”

I waved at the hospital. “This mostly. It's a nice residency program. My dad also lived in Charming and recently passed away, leaving me a house to clean up. I guess that's what really cinched the deal.”

She smiled. “I guess you were destined to be here.”

I smiled back. “Who knows? Maybe I was.”

I turned to leave but on an impulse, turned back. “I don't mean to overstep my bounds Mrs. Teller-Morrow but I just spoke with Wendy Case and she really seems like she could use someone to talk to right now. Someone to let her know she isn't totally alone right now.”

She gave me a scoffing look. “Has my son been to see her?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Well you'll have better luck barking up that tree doc. Nothing I say to that crank whore is going to make her feel the love, you can bet on that.”

“Of course, I hadn't meant to suggest any...”

“You got kids doc?”

“No ma'am.”

“When you do maybe you'll understand what that bitch did and why I'm not feeling too charitably disposed to her at the moment.”

“Of course Mrs. Teller-Morrow.”

“Thanks... for what you did for Abel.”

“I was my job.”

“Still... thanks.”

I had to make myself leave when my shift was over. I didn't want to go back to the house but I could feel myself starting to run slow. I couldn't scrub in, I was too tired. I couldn't do charts for fear I would fall asleep or make mistakes. I went back to the locker rooms and put my white coat and scrubs into the locker I'd been assigned. I could tell I was beginning to move with the detached, automatic movements of the truly exhausted. Thirty-six hours was about the limit of my endurance and I had had a stressful day preceding. It had been stupid to stay this long.

I was just outside the door of the hospital—heading to a garage I hadn't yet remembered didn't contain my car—when a shout from behind me came. “Tara!”

I could tell by the way he was walking that the confident, mythical creature was back. Dr. Nemid must have told him Abel was making a recovery. Gone was the self-doubt and frustration I had seen before. “I was hoping to catch you. They told me upstairs that you'd just left and I might catch you if I hurried.”

“Congratulations on Abel being on his way to recovery.”

He beamed. “Thanks. Though it's really you who should be congratulated. Dr. Nemid said things might not have gone as well as they did if you weren't there.”

“That's very kind of him to say.”

We stepped out together into the bright sunlight. The inside of the hospital had been made artificially dim by the bright sun but now he could see my face fully his expression changed. “Jesus Tara, you look exhausted.”

I tried to laugh. “You sure know how to flatter a girl Teller...”

To my surprise he looked almost angry. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a couple of shifts. You don't know how cutthroat these surgeons can be if they have to be.”

“Jesus. You're probably still dehydrated from the desert. You should be resting. Didn't they teach you anything in doctor school? Come on, I'm taking you home.”

“No... really I'm fine.”

But when he took me by the hand, I allowed him to lead me to his bike. “That was a pretty good pun about cutthroat surgeons.” I said with a yawn as he strapped the helmet under my chin.

“No good joke is one you have to repeat. Now come on and get on the bike.”

This time I leaned into him as he gunned the engine. I put my head against the hot leather and I could feel his heartbeat, slow but steady, under the thrum of the engine. I put my arms around his waist and let myself relax a little bit against him.

The next thing I knew he was pulling into a wide parking lot I'd never seen. The building in front, clearly a garage said, Teller-Morrow in yellow letters. I tried to tamp down my disappointment. He'd taken me to pick up my car? It was of course the sensible thing to do but I had hoped he would take me home. Part of me hoped he might stay.

But he didn't lead me to my car.

Too tired for questions I let him lead me through what looked like a deserted biker bar—pool tables and a full bar at least seemed to suggest that—and through a set of double doors. A sky blue vintage Harley in a glass case, with mug shots in the back. Strange, I thought, for a mechanical repair shop to have such an elaborate attachment. Perhaps it was a dual business?

We turned right and he led me down to the last door and opened it. My first impression was of golden afternoon light seeping in from the window partly concealed by an American flag. Posters, pictures, emblems and graphics seemed to crowd every surface. Skulls, scythes and symbols for Anarchy, chaos and death were heavily featured. The smell of him permeated out of everything as well—leather and cigarettes and his body odor and soap.

He closed the door and began stripping my shirt over my head. I let him without really helping or struggling. He kissed my neck as he unbuttoned my bra; then kissed his way down my right side as he slid off the pants, socks and shoes. The panties he left on as he led me to the bed and helped me up into it.

I reached for him with both hands but he caught them and pressed them together firmly. He laid me out with a kiss, pressing me back into the bed and blankets. “Sleep doc.” He pulled the covers over me with one hand.

“Where am I?”

“You're in my room. You were falling asleep on the back of the bike. I wasn't sure you'd make it home. Just rest.”

I heard the door open and shut and his footsteps retreating down the hall. I sat up. Left alone in his room, what did that mean? Part of me wanted to get up and rifle through his drawers just to see what I might find. The majority though knew that was a bad idea.

I flopped back against the pillow and stared across at my reflection in his mirror, barely visible for the crowded photos stuck to it. A pale, weary reflection stared back, yawned once and closed her eyes.

 

 

 

I was sitting up in bed before I even knew I was awake, scrambling back toward the head of the bed and clutching the blanket to me. Before the noise that had woke me—the slamming open of the door—had fully fallen I was aware of my nakedness and the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that conveyed. “Jackie boy! Word just came dow...” A voice trilled at the door before trailing off when he saw me. He smirked and pushed his glasses back onto his forehead. “Well hello.” His voice had a brogue of some kind—either Scottish or Irish but I was never great at telling those two apart.

“Hi.”

“How did you get back here all on your lonesome lassie?” ”

I brushed a hand over my face, pushing back the errant strands of hair. The forty-eight hour old pony tail had abandoned all pretense as I slept. How long had that been? The light through the flag seemed dimmer but surely I hadn't slept away the whole afternoon. I felt achy and my head was pounding dully, but I also felt well-rested for the first time in what was surely months. It was as if some long fever had broken, leaving me weak, aching and stupid but relieved.

“Jax... I... I'm a friend of Jax Teller.”

“Well that's clear enough to be sure. What I'm asking is, how did you come to be back here without him?” Did I imagine the hint of accusation in his voice?

“He brought me back here.”

“Ach, sure he did. Come on my sweet, up you get and dressed.”

“Excuse me?”

“She's with me Chibs.” In the hall Jax seemed to appear by magic. “Half-Sack said you were looking for me?”

Chibs turned to face him but not before I saw the surprised look on his face. Was it really so rare that Jax had women in his room? Somehow I doubted that very much. “Clay says to take Halfie with us on tonight's run. Thinks he's ready.”

Jax nodded. “Skeeter came through for us so we're ready. We'll leave in an hour.”

Chibs glanced at me and gave Jax a smirk. “We'll be ready in an hour and a half then shall we?”

Jax didn't respond. He came in and shut the door behind Chibs. He was dressed in stained and faded Carhartts and a white shirt that suffered similarly from grease and oil smudges. He'd left the leather jacket draped over the back of a chair. He pulled the shirt over his head, wiped his hands on it and tossed it into a laundry basket. He went into the attached bathroom and began to wash his hands. I watched him in silence.

“Your car is running. Juice found the part this afternoon. You can take it tonight if you like.”

“What? Oh, thank you.”

He came and stood by the foot of the bed and looked at me. I fought the urge to pull the covers higher up or to squirm under his gaze. “How long was I asleep?”

“About four hours. It's just past five.”

“Jesus. I can't believe I slept that long.”

“You shouldn't let yourself get this tired doc. It's not good for you.”

The look he was giving me was heated, particularly with the two of us being nearly naked. I looked away, blushing. On the chair where he had left his vest I could see a small pile of jewelry—five heavy rings and a heavy chain with a long bullet strung on it. The front of the jacket had four patches that said 'V. President,' 'Men of Mayhem,' 'Redwood' and 'Original.” I knew about as much about motorcycle clubs as anyone else—that is to say almost nothing at all—but I could deduce that his jacket marked him as a member of a club called the Son's of Anarchy and apparently the vice president. But as to what the rest meant I could only guess. Men of Mayhem? SAMCRO? Who the fuck was this person?

“Who are you?”

He smiled. “I've already shown you my driver...”

“You know what I mean.”

He considered his response. “I'm Jackson Teller, son of John Teller. I'm the vice president of the Son's of Anarchy Motorcycle Club he started here in Charming with my mother and eight fellow motorcycle enthusiasts. I'm a mechanic and recently a father. Anything else I think is going to take more than an hour to explain.”

“Where am I?”

“You're in the Son's of Anarchy clubhouse. In my room.”

“Why was your friend surprised that I was here?”   
“Girls don't usually get passed the bar unescorted. Not unless they're old ladies.”

“Old women are allowed back here? What... to clean it?”

He pressed his lips together not to laugh. “Not old women, _old ladies_. It's biker slang for... a woman who means something to someone in the club. A wife or a girlfriend.”

“Do you have an old lady?”

“No, I don't.”

“Wendy Case isn't your...”

“Not anymore.”

“Where are you going tonight?”

“Chibs and Half Sack and I are going to make a run north on club business.”

“What is club business?”

“You're going to need to spend a lot more time on a Harley before I'm allowed to tell you that.”

“I see.”

“Anything else doc? Because if not you look like you could use a shower, and some company in it.”

“You're expecting to fuck me again?”

“Hoping ain't the same thing as expecting.”

I should have broken it off right then: put on my shirt and stopped only long enough to pick up my car at the front door. Later I would try to pretend that I still hadn't known who he was, or rather what he did in the name of the club, but the truth was I had known before I'd gotten on his bike the first time. It was in the way he held his shoulders, strutted, talked, smelled and certainly fucked. He wasn't trying to hide. This was a man who lived by his own laws and would do violence to preserve it.

Was there some part of me that was thinking about Josh as I let the sheets fall to my waist? Perhaps not a conscious part but maybe something in my animal brain? I had lived my whole life within the confines of the social contract and then a man who I had once been assured would never come within five hundred feet of me again had pushed me down on the threshold of my own home. Was it the thing about Jax that gave me the most pause—his willingness to act categorically, even violently, to defend what he felt belonged to him—that I also sought? It was a thought that would haunt me in the coming months. Some part of me had known what might happen and wished for it.

He unbuttoned the pants and slipped them off with his shoes, crawling onto the bed in just his boxers. He grabbed a foot and jerked me down so I was sprawled beneath him. His lips descended on mine and he pushed me down into the mattress.

The bed smelled like sex. Some other woman had been here and not long before me and her perfume was still on the sheets. I hadn't noticed it before, subtle as it was under the smell of him in the room, but now it made me want to grind my teeth together. I'd never thought of myself as a particularly jealous person. Detachment was more my style than passion. But the thought of him in here with someone else made me want to fuck him twice on these sheets. To obliterate her scent with my own, like a dog marking its territory.

I arched into him, grinding my hips against him through the thin fabric of our underwear. He didn't take the bait though. He kissed me with a simmering passion instead of an explosive one. He bent his head and took a nipple into my mouth, gently pressing down with his tongue until I gasped. The other he flicked a nail across absentmindedly.

If I wasn't exactly domineering in bed I was at least usually coherent. Already though I was beginning to feel that same unhinged feel from the last time he'd had his hands on me. The world seemed to be moving both more slowly and more quickly than usual. I was fully present and excruciatingly aware of my body but everything I did felt like a reaction to him, not an extension of my own volition. It felt like a waltz—him leading and me following.

He bit my nipple; my back bent up towards it.

He slid up and kissed my neck; I wrapped my legs around him.

He slid a hand into my panties; my fingers knitted in his hair.

“Say my name Tara.”

“Jax...”

He slid a finger into me and groaned. “Say my fucking name.”

“Jax...”

Hands shaking he ripped open the condom and rolled it on. He was back on me again in a flash, pushing my legs up into my chest and sheathing himself to the hilt. “Say my name.”

“Jax.”

His hips snapped into me almost brutally and one hand came down to the aching little inch of flesh between my thighs. “Say it.”

“Jax!”

His teeth raked over my collar bone. My legs fell open wider, giving me less leverage to push back against him but spreading me farther open, letting him slide further into me.

We fucked again in the shower. He put my hands against the back wall and bent me at the waist. With one hand fisted in my hair and the other grasping my hips he slammed into me hard enough that I was sure there would be bruises on my hip. “You're going to remember that I fucked you tomorrow Tara,” he snarled just as my eyes glazed over and the tile of the bathroom seemed to melt into an explosion.

I was glad of his hands on my hips when I came. My knees buckled and I wouldn't have been able to hold myself up without him. When we were both spent he washed my hair gently, rinsed me off and went to get me a clean towel from under the sink.

“I don't think I have my checkbook on me. Can I pick up my car in the morning?” I asked as he dressed and I combed out my hair.

He was putting those heavy rings on—the ones that said SONS and looked like they'd break a jaw on them. He shook his head, “no charge doc.”

My eyebrows shot up. “I don't...”

He laughed. “Not for the sex Tara. It's the least I can do for you after what you did for my son.”

“That was my job Jax. I can't accept free work on my car for it.”

He shrugged. “Well I've told Bobby not to take any money on your account so it's either that or leave the car with us for good. I'll be more than happy to give you a ride wherever you want to go.”

My brow crinkled. “Is this it then?”

“Is this what then?”

I gestured around. “Is this your normal thing with girls? Ride in like some kind of white night on a black motorcycle, take them back here, fuck them silly and then give them free automotive work.”

At that he laughed outright. “No doc, I wouldn't say this is the normal thing with girls. I told you, I've never found a girl lik you in the desert before. I've never found a girl like you anywhere.”

I dropped the towel and went to go get my jeans on. He watched me move. “What is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, annoyed by his laughter.

He shrugged. “Nothing I suppose. I guess I just think if I were a smarter man I'd be a little bit smarter about you.”

I jerked on my jeans and began to clip on my bra, tossing my wet hair over one shoulder. “Smarter about me how?”

“You aren't exactly from my world are you doc? Just bodes trouble is all.”

_I've been dreaming of my death since I left Chicago_ , I almost said. _I don't when I sleep with you._

Instead I said, “shouldn't that be my line?”

“Probably.”

He walked me out to the parking lot. The car had been brought around but he opened and shut the door behind me. I rolled down the window and he gave me a kiss through it. Behind him I could see a few men by the garage and motorcycles staring at us. “I think your friends are watching us.”

“They're just sweet on you.”

“Oh is that what you think it is?” It didn't look like that. They looked like they thought I was exactly the interloper I was.

“Probably. You better let me know though if one biker ain't enough for you doc. Because if so there's gonna be big trouble.” He bit his lip. “You need me to send someone else on this run and come home with you doc?”

“No, why would I?” It made me uncomfortable that he'd seen my weakness, guessed what I wanted. There was no logical reason I would want to avoid being alone in that house. How had he known?

“No reason.”

I gave him a small smile and made myself turn the key. It was an effort to drive home, and effort to walk from the car to the house and turn the key in the lock. My shoulders were scrunched up against the back of my neck. I went inside and the house felt strange an empty: ominous and cramped.

My heart pounding, I checked every room, every door and every lock. I took the bag of Cheerios into the bed and curled up with all the lights in the house on. I read some of _The Cuckoo's Egg_ but it was too weird and I couldn't get into it. I listened to the sounds of the house for steps or the turn of a doorknob until I fell exhausted into sleep again and woke in the morning, gasping for breath.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! Please don't forget to leave me a review so I know how you like the direction I'm going!

 

I'm not sure how long I had been frozen in place when I heard the motorcycle at the end of the driveway. “Hey Doc, good morning... Doc?” The warm, large hand on my arm was enough to break the spell. I jerked, glancing up into those blue eyes and movie-star smile. “What's up Tara?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong.”

His eyes crinkled in a frown. “I didn't ask what's wrong. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just said nothing is wrong.”

For the first time he noticed the rose petals on the hood of the car. “What are those?”

I tried to laugh. “Well rose petals I guess. You didn't put them there?”

He smiled. “I sure didn't. I've got competition already? You've only been in town less than a week.”

“Probably someone got the wrong car. I hope no high school relationships end over the mix up.”

I moved to brush the rose petals off my car, fighting to not let my hand shake. Of course I knew exactly who had put them on my car. Josh had bought me pink roses on our first date and sometimes called me “Tara Rose” as a pet name.

“Well I'm sorry to say I ain't much of a roses kind of a guy.”

“That's really alright, I'm not much a roses kind of a girl these days to tell the truth.”

“That's a shame. You're the kind of girl who I might have to reconsider the principle for.”

With effort I pushed the roses out of my mind. “I ran into your mom yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?

“She told me she could smell my pussy on you and asked if I did crank.”

“That sounds like Gemma. I'll talk with her.”

I shrugged. “Honestly in the end she didn't really seem to bothered by the idea. I think she just wanted me to know that she knew.”

“Maybe she knows she overdid it. She sent me over here to invite you to a fundraiser she's organizing at the high school. They're going to be selling baked goods and the school band is going to be performing. Whole small town thing. She says she knows you're busy so you don't have to make anything but you can help her and the other old ladies sell the pies.”

“I'd like that. But I don't get off until eleven.”

To my surprise I found that it was true. I was desperately lonely in Charming and though I had my reservations about Jax, about his whole family and especially the MC, I would have gone to the fundraiser in an instant if I'd been free. Anything to avoid another night alone in the house, imagining sinister reasons for every noise as I tried to fall asleep.

“There's an after party at the clubhouse. You could come to that.”

I hesitated for just a moment. A fundraiser at a high school was one thing. I could imagine myself there, would know what to wear and how to behave. It would be a wholly defensible action in my professional life. Whether or not the hospital approved entirely of the MC or the Tellers they could hardly find fault in a bake sale. An after party at the clubhouse afterward was much more of a line to cross. And yet... I couldn't bring myself to refuse. How had it become true that a loud party in a biker bar seemed to me somehow safer than my own home? How was it that I knew I would sleep better in this man's arms in the small apartment that he kept attached to the clubhouse than I would in my own bed?

But there was no fucking way I was planning on sleeping in my own bed that night. Not with the rose petals that had been on my car.

Had Josh driven in from Chicago just for this? Had he sent them somehow? Or was I right that it had been a simple mistake and that someone had the wrong car? I wanted to desperately to believe that it was a mistake.

“Alright.”

His smile was entirely leonine. He took my hand in his and pulled me gently towards him. He ran a finger softly over my bottom lip, looking like he was thinking about giving it either a kiss or a bite. Heat from my stomach seemed to throb between my legs. “Wear something sexy for me doc.”

“Alright.” My voice was a little lower than I had intended.

His smile widened even further. “What you can make me think with just a word. I thought I had a dirty mind before I met you but I didn't know how bad it could get.”

The shift seemed longer than usual with the anticipation of the night yet to come. I had never desired a man physically to the extent that I desired Jax. Between surgeries as I wrote my op notes I found myself wondering what I would wear, how he would look, how he might dance or slide his hands over my body in some dark corner. I imagined him taking me back to that apartment behind the bar and stripping me on the bed before having his way with me.

Mercifully I managed to make it out of the hospital on time and drove home to shower and change clothes. Though there wasn't much in my wardrobe that could rightly be called sexy I chose carefully the most risque and provocative things I owned: a lacy matching black bra and pantie set under a tight black dress leftover from pre-medical school days that thankfully still fit me . The only heels I had brought were sensible business heels meant for interviewing but the result overall was almost unrecognizable to me. I stood in front of the mirror for almost five minutes wondering, _am I really leaving the house dressed like a co-ed going to a frat party_?

But if I was worried that my outfit was too provocative when I left the house I had the opposite worry once I arrived. From the parking lot I could see that I was woefully under dressed. Or was it overdressed? They were certainly wearing less clothes than I was and yet somehow my outfit felt inadequate.

The party had spilled out onto the parking lot where there were two large bonfires and what looked like several kegs. Couches had been moved out from somewhere as well as other furniture as well as a long course around the perimeter where people were periodically driving back and forth with motorcycles. The least extreme fashion statements were dresses and t-shirts with cut outs to bear a large amount of cleavage. There were women with leather corsets and jackets, half zipped up with breasts spilling out. Some simply wore what looked like leather-studded lingerie. Blond hair and big breasts were everywhere.

I almost turned around I felt so out of place but by then someone had come to open the chain link fence to let me in. He was a blond boy who looked in his mid twenties and though I hadn't seen him before he must have seen me because he said “Jax is inside. I'll walk you to him.”

“My name is Tara.”

“I know. I'm Kip, though mostly people here call me Half-Sack.”

I was glad to be escorted. The looks I got from the women we passed made it clear that my irregularity was not in my imagination.

The inside of the clubhouse was surprisingly calmer than the outside. The crowd inside was sparser, mostly men in jackets like Jax though a few were just in t-shirts playing a game of pool. The blaring music outside was somewhat muted as was the smell of spilled beer. Jax was sitting on a low couch, speaking with two men I'd never met before. One was older, perhaps in his early fifties with the look of an old boxer gone gray. The other was Jax's age and unlike the other two he did not sport the leather jacket that marked him as a member of the club. Despite this he seemed comfortable enough in his environs.

Jax stood when he saw me and gave a low wolf whistle. “You look great doc. You should wear your hair down more.”

I blushed , unused to having my appearance so blatantly commented upon or noticed. “Sorry I'm late I said,” at a loss for anything else to say, despite the fact that I was almost on time.

“A woman who looks like you is never late Dr. Knowles.” The old boxer commented.

“Tara this is Clay, he's married to Gemma.” An interesting way to introduce your step father I noted.

“Pleasure to meet you sir.”

“And Opie, an old friend.”

“And you as well.”

Each gave me an overly firm handshake and allowed Jax to guide me to join him on the couch beside him with a hand at the small of my back. He put an arm around my waist and under my ass, allowing him to slide me as close to him as possible without pulling me entirely onto his lap before letting the arm settle possessively at my waist, hand half cupping one cheek and fingers curled into the short hem of my skirt as if he was considering lifting it up in a moment. Perhaps it had been naive to expect anything less than a unilateral display of possession, or to think that Jax would have any of the same interest that I might in keeping our relationship less than fully public the physicality of it... but still surprised me. I stiffened noticeably in his arms and he ran his hand up my side. “Everything okay darling?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Half-sack get Tara a beer.”

“I hear you're helping us with Abel at the hospital Dr. Knowles.” Clay said. Both he and Opie seemed to be sizing me up, looking for what it was that had gotten me invited into this strange situation, or perhaps what had made me agree to come.

“I'm glad to be able to help. But it is part of my job.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a neonatal surgery resident.”

“And how did you meet Jax?” Now it was Opie asking questions.

I smiled. “He found me actually. In the desert. My car broke down on my way to Charming and he gave me a ride into town.”

Half-sack returned with my beer and I accepted with gratitude, taking a long sip before putting it on the table. I felt somehow that I was going to need a few more to get through the night.

“What made you move to Charming?”

“The job. And my father lived her. He passed away recently and left me the house.”

“My condolences.”   
“Thank you.”

“So have you ever been to a biker party before Dr. Knoles?” Clay broke in.

“No. This is my first one.”

“What do you think of our humble abode?”

“You've got a lot of bikes.”

His grin was broad. “Any other pearls of wisdom you've manged to glean Dr. Knowles?”

“I wouldn't dare comment. I'm a little out of my element here.”

“Not enough... what was it? Neonatal surgery?”

I took a swig of my beer and smiled. “Oh no, I'm off the job now. I've just never seen anything quite like this before.”

“Well I'm sure Jax would be more than happy to show you around... from what I hear from Chibs he may have already.”

Jax fished in a shirt pocket for his cigarettes and lit one. Incredibly for a moment I was surprised he would smoke inside. It was a strange, dissociated moment that brought home for me in some strange way the reality of where I was. It was easy to pretend this was a normal bar in some ways. Perhaps a little rougher around the edges than I was used to but still, to smoke indoors seemed somehow still forbidden. Clay I think saw my look of surprise and grinned widely.

“You don't smoke doc?”

“Not since college.”

“Had a wild side back in the day huh?”

“By some standards.”

To my relief Gemma arrived just at that moment and sat down with us. “Hello doc. The boys are treating you right I hope? You have a beer an everything you need?”

“Oh yes Ms. Teller-Morrow. Thank you for asking.”

It came out oddly formal. Like something I might say to the mother of a boyfriend from high school but she almost grinned at it. “Good to hear. Come on over here. I'll introduce you to some of the old ladies. Louanne is a porn star for example so maybe the two of you will have some gynecologic interests in common.”

I didn't correct her to say I hadn't looked at another woman's vagina since medical school but simply stood and did as I was bid. Jax released me reluctantly. “I'll come find you alter doc.”

I mostly just listened as the other women talked. I hadn't noticed before that the room seemed somewhat gender segregated. The women stood together, drinking beer and occasionally going out for a smoke. The men shot pool or played cards or stood and drank together. Sometimes they came together to dance, or, as the night progressed, a little more than dance. Around midnight one of the women not standing with us, a young girl who Gemma told me was not connected to the club but was trying to be, had her top taken off during a card game and a little while later was taken to the back by one of the men I didn't know but was wearing a vest very similar to Jax.

At almost two Jax joined the group of women. He put his arm around my waist, low over my hip and fingers again curled into the bottom. “Come on doc, let's get you to bed. I'm sure you have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

I had been fighting yawning for hours but still I managed to protest, “No, honestly I'm fine.” Above all I didn't want to be sent home.

To my relief though he led me back behind the door, through the clubhouse to the room I'd slept in before. The noise of the party was muffled to a soothing white noise with the door closed and suddenly I felt utterly exhausted. With a smooth motion Jax pulled my dress over my head and then draped it across the back of a chair. He undid my bra and bent to kiss one nipple gently, lightly at the tip, then knelt and pulled my underwear down to my ankles for me to step out. I stepped out of my shoes and stood naked before him. For a long moment he considered me before turning and going to the dresser. He got out a clean white t-shirt and slipped it gently over my head and helping me pull my arms through.

He pointed to the bathroom. “You'll need bring your own toothbrush next time but you're welcome to use mine in the meantime.”

I was almost too tired to question it. As I brushed my teeth numbly a number of questions came to mind. Was it a good sign that he wasn't tearing at my clothes? What did he mean next time I could bring my own toothbrush? It seemed safer somehow to maintain the sexual, at times almost brutally so, nature of our relationship. But in the end I was so tired even the worry seemed perfunctory, mechanical.

When I came out of the bathroom he was dressed only in boxers. He pointed to the bed. “Get in doc. I'll join you in a moment.”

I lay in the bed while he brushed his teeth, listening to the party and the muffled sound of someone fucking in the other room. Then he came in and got into bed next to me. Wordlessly he folded me to his chest, placing a gentle kiss on my neck. “You can fuck me if you want.” I mumbled, eyes already closed.

“Go to sleep Tara.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Margret Mead found me the next morning after the first case in the physicians room finishing up my op note. “I've got something to show you. Come with me.”

She took me down to the Surgical ICU to a patient's bedside. He was face down on the bed with most of his body covered in bandages. I couldn't see his face but the edema in his arms and legs spoke of serious trouble. I took the paper chart from the table at the end of the bed and flipped open the name: Kyle Hobart. It didn't ring a bell. “Is he coming to my service?” Normally we didn't do adults.

“Flip to the back. They took some pictures before they bandaged him up.”

I flipped to the back. The burns were extensive and clearly made by some kind of blow torch that had moved back and forth across his back—the clean edges looked almost deliberate. And underneath, like some mirage floating up from cool water was something familiar: a grim reaper tattooed on his back.

For a second my heart dropped. The man was unrecognizable face down on the bed and... when...how...when was the last time I had seen him. I flipped to the front: Kyle Hobart stared back at me. “How was he identified? When did he come in?”   
“He had ID. He came in last night. Your new... friend and his gang did this to him.”

Later it would take me a while to admit to myself that my initial feeling was overwhelming relief. I didn't want it to be Jax face down on this bed in critical care. No matter what else it meant my initial reaction was that the room, which had been spinning since I saw the tattoo, stopped suddenly.

“Why?” Was all I could manage.

“He was a part of their gang. He fell out. He was supposed to ink over the tattoo but he didn't. So they took it back form him. You can't wear that tattoo once you're out of the gang, they'll make sure of it.”

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat. “When did they do this?”

“He came in yesterday around 7pm.”

He'd come straight from doing this to the party. He'd had his hands on me, inside of me, just hours later. And there had been nothing in his face to make me suspect he'd come from committing such a violent act. The same charming, apple-pie smile and soft lips had greeted me and I hadn't been able to tell the difference. A shiver ran up my spine. What else could those disconcertingly sweet blue eyes hide?

I didn't have to ask why she was showing me this. I closed the book. “I hope he feels better.”

The rest of the day was a blur of stress. I felt like there was a low humming in my ears making it hard to think. The drive to the garage was a blur of tears that never fell. But by the time the car door slammed behind me my emotions had bloomed into rage—undefined but nonetheless powerful. “Where is Jax.” I snapped to Half-Sack.

He indicated one of the garage bay doors where two men were standing beneath a car up on lifts. The other I recognized as the younger man from the partie: Opie.

“Hey Doc, what brings you...” Jax began as I approached.

It took all my self restraint not to shove him. “You fucking burned that man alive. How could you? How fucking could you?” The tears were starting to rise again and my voice rose in tone and volume. “You fucking monster!”

“Tara I need you to lower the tone of your voice.”

“You're a fucking animal!”

In an instant he had my by the upper arm. It was a move a bouncer might make—the force of the grip alone was enough of let me know the strength of the arm behind it and the force I was dealing with but understated in every other way. He wasn't overpowering me bodily, only letting me know that he could. I was so shocked by the speed at which he had closed with me I allowed myself to be moved without resistance back towards the bar from the night before.

It was only when the door to his bedroom slammed shut behind us that I realized what a huge mistake I'd made. If I thought this man was capable of what I'd seen why had I come to visit him in the place where he was most secure, most dangerous, most powerful. “Tara you can't come here and shout at me in front of people. I can't allow you to do that.”

Still, I was too angry to fully feel the fear my position should have carried. I wrenched my arm from his grasp, flinging off his grip as hard as I could even as he released me, but when I spoke my voice trembled uncontrollably. “What does that even mean Jax? Does that mean that you did this?”

For a moment he gave me an expression that was somewhere between sadness and frustration. Then he went to a desk drawer and fished out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, slamming shut his zipo shut with audible force. “What does that...”

“It means don't ask questions you don't want the answer to. Jesus fucking Christ Tara what do you expect me to say?” He watched me as I paced increasingly agitated circles in front of him. “That guy was ex-SAMCRO. He knew what he was getting into when he hung the reaper on his back in the first place. The patch isn't just something you slap on an forget about. Living outside the law has its benefits but it has its risks too.”

“Risks like getting your back torched by former friends? Risks like that Jax?”

He took a deep drag and looked at me, impassive. My rage curled up between us like tendrils of smoke. How dare he lite a cigarette inside. No one did that anymore. It was against the rules, against decorum, against proper decency. I wanted to take it and stub it out, but I didn't dare. Instead I ground my nails into my palms. “You're a fucking animal.”

“So are you.” There was no accusation in his voice but no tenderness either.

“I could call the police you know.”

“That won't change anything.”   
“You aren't some fucking untouchable God! This isn't your goddamn kingdom.”

The long stretching silence and the look in his eye meant he didn't have to say the words, _yes it is_. He truly was not afraid of the consequences of his actions.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“An outlaw.” He stubbed out the cigarette.

I let out a little stifled laugh. “There aren't any outlaws anymore.”

For a long moment we looked at each other without speaking. He didn't look like the happy go-lucky man from the night before. His sky blue eyes looked cool as ice and it didn't take imagination for me to believe that this was a man capable of taking the vengeance I was accusing him of, or taking anything else he took a fancy to. I swallowed deeply and suddenly a new fear seemed to hatch in the pit of my stomach and crawl out, reptilian and protean. It occurred to me to cross the room and kiss him. Everything I had ever learned taught me to run from this man and yet there was a wild, savage part of me that cried out for it. Total freedom. The freedom from fear that would come from allowing myself to live like that—unafraid of punishment or boundaries not of my own making.

For the first time, my heart really began to pound.

It felt like a dream as I moved towards him. I shoved him hard down on the bed and followed him. Our lips met and heat seemed to flow through every point we touched into me, pooling in the place where my legs met. We tussled on the bed, almost a fight for dominance for a moment. His hands went to my hair, tangling and pulling me down harder. He pulled me over so for a second he was above me and then let me roll him again so I was again on top. I slammed a fist against his chest and he released me long enough for me to get his shirt over his head. He tore at mine in return, pulling them over my head as the other hand tore at the laces of my scrub bottoms. My hands went to his belt and in a moment we were both naked.

I mounted him in a single movement and gasped aloud at the sudden fullness.

“God Tara you're so fucking wet. Come, ride me doc.”

His fingers dug into my thighs as I began to rock up onto my knees in a wild rhythm. I was panting almost before I began but the wild sensation building between my thighs spurred me on. I wanted him as deep inside of me as was physically possible and then, somehow deeper. We gasped together for long minutes as he drove me up and down over and over with his hands. From this position the most sensitive part of me drove down on his symphysis pubis and the slight curve of him was driving me wild. Finally with a final near-scream I pushed myself over the edge. My fingers gripped into the blanket beneath us and I lost our rhythm.

With a single moment Jax rolled me beneath him, determined to get his own pleasure. As the universe seemed to explode around me in a haze of stars I felt him pump into me a few final times and then, with a groan, joined me in ecstasy.

When I regained my senses I pushed him off me with more force than was called for. I snatched up my scrubs and angrily pulled them back on. “Don't call me.” I spat, slamming the door behind me.

Back in my car I slammed the steering wheel in anger. Why the fuck had I slept with him again? Hot tears rose and I wiped them away angrily. I didn't deserve to cry _. Little slut, little whore, little idiot_ , I berated myself. I slammed he keys into the ignition and turned the car on.

At least, I assured myself, I never had to see him again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review! I love to hear what you have to say and it really does make me write faster! No matter what your opinion I'd love to hear if you like it/want more or if you have anything I can improve!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts/comments/ect obviously. Any suggestions for how I can improve my writing/story telling would be obviously appreciated! I would also particularly invite you to comment on the themes I mentioned in the description! 
> 
> xo TwineLove


End file.
